


Sunrise

by quadrotriticale



Category: Star Trek, Star Trek: Enterprise
Genre: M/M, hhhhHHHHH
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-05
Updated: 2018-07-05
Packaged: 2019-06-05 22:35:24
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 864
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15180833
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/quadrotriticale/pseuds/quadrotriticale
Summary: He’s still handsome, though. You aren’t overly sure what to do with that thought, and it comes up more and more frequently, so you try to push it out of your mind. It’s fine, it’s fine, he’s pretty and he talks to you, smiles like a fucking sunrise, you’re gay, you're in love with one of the first genuine friends you've ever had, you can live with that, you can handle that. Absolutely.





	Sunrise

**Author's Note:**

> hhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhowdy  
> today i finally post some fuckin Star Treks. u might not know this. but i love star trek  
> Companion piece to Lukewarm

First important observation: You haven’t slept more than four hours in the last three days. The same goes for most of the crew. Anyone running on more sleep than that is more than likely injured. 

Second important observation: You think you’re in love with NX-01’s head engineer. You think you want to vomit. 

(Third, less important observation: You’ve been staring at the same button on your console for thirty minutes. You think you may have dozed off- you really want to go down to the mess and get some coffee, but you don’t have the time. You don’t even think there would be any coffee.)

You don’t know why you’re thinking about Trip Tucker _now_ , why being in the middle of some very dangerous, very uncharted, very deadly space has brought your friend to the forefront of your mind, but it has. Maybe it’s the sleep deprivation, you think. Maybe it’s the fact that you just really find him attractive and the ship just isn’t that big, and you see him so much, and- 

You try not to get too in your head about it. You contemplating asking Phlox for a stimulant (again). 

It takes you all another day to get through the space. It knocks out the warp engines, cuts impulse to half power before you’re through, almost punctures a hole in the hull. You’re all alive though. Anyone who was injured, Phlox assures the captain over the coms, is going to make a full recovery. You’ve slept six hours in four days. The only person who’s alright is Phlox. 

Once things are patched up to the point that the ship won’t fall apart within the next eight to ten hours, the captain all but orders the entire crew to bed. You’d think you’d be pretty happy just to sleep at your station, honestly, you’re exhausted. Even T’Pol looks relieved, and you’re pretty sure Vulcan’s almost don’t sleep. 

You don’t really remember walking back to your quarters. You don’t really dream, wake up something like eleven hours later to the hum of the warp engines and the dawning realization that you actually can’t remember the last time you ate. You shower quickly, get dressed, head down to mess. 

You don’t expect to find Trip there. He doesn’t stop for meals often- you know it takes a lot to keep this fucking ship from flying apart, know he usually takes his meals if he eats at all while huddled under the warp engine or next to some conduit he's trying to jury rig. He’s there anyway, reading over… something, you’re guessing progress reports, eating breakfast and sipping coffee. He looks… exhausted, and you guess he didn’t get as much sleep as you did. 

He’s still handsome, though. You aren’t overly sure what to do with that thought, and it comes up more and more frequently, so you try to push it out of your mind. It’s fine, it’s fine, he’s pretty and he talks to you, smiles like a fucking sunrise, you’re gay, you're in love with one of the first genuine friends you've ever had, you can live with that, you can handle that. Absolutely.

You debate sitting with him while you get something to eat. His table is otherwise empty. You could. He’s already your friend, somehow, it wouldn’t be strange of you to go sit with him. He doesn’t know what you’ve been thinking about. He can’t read minds, it’s fine. Your debate is cut short when he looks up, sees you, smiles that stupid smile that gets your heart fluttering in your chest like you’re 12 and he’s the first person you’ve ever had a genuine goddamn crush on, and motions you over to his table. You’re sold, obviously, you go sit with him. 

He talks more than you do, babbles really, about things that have happened in the last few days, about what he’s had to do to keep the ship together (some miraculous and you’re sure at least partially dramatized story about duct tape and superglue), asks you about things that have happened on the bridge. It’s comfortable, you think, you like listening to him talk. He goes on, and on, and you know if you liked him just a little bit less than you do, you might find it annoying. You pay attention to him though, happy to sit and listen to his accounts of the last few days in Engineering. You pass breakfast amicably, spend a little extra time after you’ve both finished eating just talking. It’s good, you think, you aren’t really used to people seeming like they genuinely want to spend time with you. 

...And then you’re needed on the bridge, and he’s needed in Engineering, and he frowns at nothing in particular before smiling at you and telling you that he’ll talk to you later. You tell him the same, give him a smile of your own which seems like it was what he was looking for. 

(It’s completely unknown to you, at this point, that by some miracle of luck, you’re not in the midst of another horrible unrequited pining, which, although you may have been resigned to it, definitely isn’t optimal.)


End file.
